


Food choices

by littleclevercat



Series: The Emperor's Resurrection!AU [1]
Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleclevercat/pseuds/littleclevercat
Summary: The Emperor isn't impressed by some of the food Sister Vasilisa loves.





	Food choices

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an ask on tumblr.  
> Reminder: “the Agent Varja” is the guise the resurrected Emperor uses in this AU.

It was a typical street food stall, with sizzling grease, browned grills and the cloying smell of smoke and something turned sour, but in Vasilisa’s eyes, it was a gift sent by heavens. She gulped soundly. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the posture of her watcher changed a bit in a vague disapproving way she had gradually started to recognise. Vasilisa once again felt fleeting amazement about wonders of the ancient tech; in truth, her companion was a formidable gene-forged giant more than two meters tall clad in gold, but that gossamer-thin masking cloak made him look no larger than a Storm Trooper. Black Carapace armour didn’t lend him any personality, but judging by slightly sceptic tilt of his head, this one was probably Amon.

“Can I have a bun with greens and this piece?” Vasilisa asked the stall owner, pointing at a hunk of a meat, black and brown from grilling and covered in thick juicy sauce.

“Four big chips, my dear!” the stall owner answered merrily. She was not in the slightest intimidated by Vasilisa’s Adepta Sororita armour, as well as Amon’s hulking presence behind her. Seeing that Vasilisa started to rummage her belt pouch for the payment, the stall owner dropped greyish bread bun cut in half on the grill. The bread bun looked no better than the rest of the stall, its crust clipped in several places, probably to remove mouldy parts. Vasilisa didn’t care; she was watching the process of her order assembling with hungry eyes, jingling the coins in her hand impatiently. As soon as the stall owner finished and rolled the bun staffed with greens and meat in a piece of greasy paper, she dropped the coins on the counter, snatched the bun, and bit into it with a slightly obscene noise of pleasure.

“What are you doing?”

Vasilisa took a break from devouring her meal and looked at the Agent. Of course, she knew now he was not an inquisitorial agent, this was just a guise he had been using for the time being. Still, in her mind, Vasilisa had always called him by the name he introduced himself with back by the time of their first meeting.

“I’m eating,” said Vasilisa with the mouth full, and was unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from her voice. Amon, still lingering behind her shoulder, quietly snorted. His counterpart accompanying the Agent Varja moved his head as if he was rolling his eyes. This one was probably Diocletian.

“Let me rephrase. What are your doing with your health?”

Vasilisa chewed through the mouthful and swallowed.

“Eating is important to health,” she answered. She was failing to see what was wrong. She knew about the Agent Varja’s discontent with the general state of affairs in the Imperium, but a bit of street fast food couldn’t for sure be in the list of what was causing his displeasure now.

“Give me that,” the Agent pointed on the half-eaten bun.

From the moment of their meeting, Vasilisa hadn’t been able to resist his orders, and this demand was definitely an order. Reluctantly, she yielded her meal. The Agent sniffed at the bun, pulled a face, and threw the roll into a nearby trash container.

“Hey!” Vasilisa made a hasty move to intercept him and save her meal but the Agent prevented her from diving to the trash by griping her elbow and leading her away.

“I paid my last coins for it!” cried Vasilisa indignantly, dragging after the Agent down the street.

“Next time you will be sure not to spend your money on trash,” answered the Agent cooly, keeping to lead Vasilisa by her elbow.

“The trash?! That was just a fast food!” she wrested from his grip and huffed. The Agent stopped, turned to her and stood with hands on his hips.

“That was a trash,” he snapped. Noticing how Vasilisa jumped at his harsh tone, he toned down his voice to almost gentle admonishing, “The bread moulded through, the vegetables both wilted and sour, and don’t get me start on that meat.”

“It was just a meat,” answered Vasilisa defensively, “Freshly grilled meat can’t be bad, even if it comes from some underhive dwelling animals. Like sewer rats.”

Sometimes she just loved to antagonise the Agent by highlighting her far from noble lineage.

“I would not be bothered by a sewer rat meat,” the Agent looked pensive, “if only sewer rats were the most dangerous things that dwell underhives. I imagine some underhive creatures could be very interested in spreading their meat and influence among the populace through such street food instalments.”

Vasilisa grew pale and glanced over shoulder at the food stall.

“Are you saying this was a genestealer meat?” she asked incredulously. The Agent snorted with laughter, turned around and went farther down the street, joined by Diocletian.

“It was a joke, right?” Vasilisa looked at Amon, they both following the Agent, “Tell me he was joking.”

“How could I know?” there was a smile in Amon’s voice.

Vasilisa made a gagging sound.

“Well, fuck you all and your ancient sense of humour.”


End file.
